There are stories within stories that we tell ourselves to keep the truth alive but buried deep inside. To keep the light from falling in and ruining the blood sport game. The game is, of course, to hurt ourselves as hard as possible. And then to turn around and do it over and over and over again in the name of calling sickness healing. How much can you take. How much can you handle before you break. We are full to the throat with our own choked needs. What I had forgotten was that the light would not stop coming because the light does not fear the darkness, it needs it, it loves it. It belongs to it. And somehow the story within the story crawls out of its tiny shell. Makes a run for it. Dares to leap. Risks the impossible. A strange new wilderness reveals itself. But you do not yet know how to tell that story. All you know how to say is, Today I am 36 days sober. And you are the only one who knows that a day is a lifetime and a single night is a miraculous escape from the jaws of death and the story is that you are saving yourself. And if the light can come for you, you want to tell anyone who will listen, it can come for anybody else.